


Dirtbags

by popering



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Alternate Universe - Sports, Dirtbagging, Dysfunctional Family, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Road Trips, Running, Sports, Trail Running, Ultrarunning, Van Life, if you know what that is, not yet but there will be, theres nothing in these tags bet, this is probably one of the most obscure things to base a fic on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popering/pseuds/popering
Summary: On paper, Eren and Levi look like unremarkable, ordinary people. The only thing giving away the fact that they might have a screw or two loose is the ungodly amount of worn-out shoes forgotten in their closets. After all, why else would a sane person want to run 100 miles?Eren and Levi belong to a niche group of runners who cover distances on foot most people don't care to drive, and everyone wants their shot at Western States--one of the most prestigious 100-mile races in the country. Tired of their day jobs, Eren and Levi head West in search of their own physical limits and a shot at glory. What they find goes a little deeper.
Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Hot-Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my ideal life/escapist fantasy feat. Ereri. My cardiovascular system is a lot stronger than my joints so sometimes I have to express my love for running in other ways and that's what this is. I apologize in advance for not looking up the grammar rules for writing numbers. I also apologize that this might not update very often at first (this semester is kicking my ass), but hopefully it'll pick up.
> 
> Also, for later, DNF = Did Not Finish

_God,_ fuck _this hill_.

Eren was a stubborn bastard, which was both a blessing and a curse. He also had a bit of a penchant for going overboard--a combination that was probably what landed him in a fifty mile footrace in the first place. It wasn’t his first one, granted, he was by no means a veteran either.

Eren had run his fair share of marathons and 50k’s, but now he was starting to think he should’ve run a few more in preparation. He felt way too spent for how much farther he still had to go. Had he not tapered enough? Was he undertrained? He’d done this before--but then again, the elevation profile of this course was nearly twice what his one and only previous fifty miler was. Not to mention, he lived in the flattest backcountry Kentucky had to offer, so he didn’t exactly have a lot of opportunity to practice running up mountains. On long weekends, he tried to carve out enough time to drive down to the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee, sleeping in his family’s old Jeep in the parking lot of the steepest trailheads he could find and living off of PB&J tortilla wraps and canned beans. Maybe a bag of shredded cheese. In that respect, he could be considered a weekend warrior, though his version of it wasn’t exactly enviable. As his piss-poor performance was currently telling him, he clearly didn’t do it often enough.

A whole host of possibilities ran through his mind about what he could’ve done better in training. What he could’ve done more of, what he should’ve focused less on, what he might’ve been fucking up right now. The truth of the matter was, Eren just wasn’t acclimated to the heat. It was late April and unseasonably hot for the Appalachian mountains of West Virginia with temperatures climbing steadily as the lazy afternoon sun sat blazing exposed single-track. Humidity was higher than average and the sweat clung to his skin, refusing to evaporate. He’d been training from late fall to mid-spring and was nowhere near accustomed to temperatures that simulated peak summer heat.

Sweat dripped down his face, his back, and off the ends of his pinky fingers as the droplets traveled down his hands. It soaked his white shirt which clung to his torso despite it’s moisture-wicking properties. The entire course up to now had at least been shaded by a dense canopy of forest foliage, but as soon as he broke into the exposed section of trail, he felt as if he’d walked straight into a sauna. The sunlight was hot and direct and soon it became the only thing he could think about. It slowly sapped all his energy, draining it like water from a leaky faucet. After two miles he started bargaining with himself--he’d walk the hills, even if they were slight, and run the downs and the flats. That lasted all of about another mile and a half. He’d been walking everything for the past twenty minutes.

All he had was two handheld water bottles with a few energy gels shoved in the pockets. The empty one had held a sports drink. He had about half a bottle of water left in the other that was quickly going lukewarm. He desperately wanted to pour it on himself or chug it, but he still had four miles until the next aid station. He looked at the gels. His stomach churned. He was due to take another one but the thought almost made him gag. He needed calories, but it was all he could do to just focus on not upchucking what was left of the previous one.

Despite the fact he felt like he was going to keel over any moment, he put his hands--the water bottles--on his thighs, hunkered down, and started power-hiking his way up this monster hill. Well, it was an attempt at power-hiking, at least.

He heard footsteps shuffle up behind him.

“Mind if I walk with you?” someone--a man’s voice--asked him. He let out a few heavy breaths as he slowed down.

“I’m not walking. I’m power-hiking,” Eren explained, seeing the man’s bib number—136—clipped to the bottom of his shirt.

“Okay,” the man said like he really didn’t care, “Mind if I join you?”

“Only if you don’t mind the fact I could spew at any minute,” he panted.

“I’ll take my chances,”

To be honest, Eren was grateful for the conversation. He’d made many a friend during races. Misery loved company, after all, and misery was abundant at these kinds of things. Not to mention, he hadn’t seen another runner in nearly an hour and the boredom wasn’t making it any easier to ignore the nauseous feeling growing inside him. He would’ve been worried he was off-course if he hadn’t been cruising on a straight, thin strip of dirt since he saw the last little pink flag that marked the trail. Eren looked up from examining the man’s running kit, spending extra time appreciating his deep purple Salomon’s.

If he’d had the ability to spare even a single fuck, Eren probably would’ve spent a silent minute just admiring his face. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, thin eyes--he was undoubtedly attractive. Too bad he couldn’t exactly appreciate it at the moment. Rather, he was busy mentally dropping his jaw when he noticed the man still had a gray iPod nano clipped to the neck of his shirt that looked like it should’ve stopped functioning a decade ago. Then again, sometimes simple was best, especially when you were out in the middle of nowhere. His earbuds dangled from around his neck.

“God, how is that thing still working?” Eren waggled his finger in the direction of his neck.

“This?” he flicked the square inch piece of metal, “Luck, I guess. I’ve had it since middle school,”

“Jesus,” he breathed, “Steve Jobs didn’t die so his products could survive planned obsolescence. Have some respect,”

“Well, consider this my middle finger to him, then,”

“Fair enough. Anyway, what’s your name?”

“I’m Levi,” the man answered as he pushed his sweat-slick hair from his forehead. Part of it stuck up in a cow-lick fashion.

“Eren,”

“A pleasure,”

“I’m sure,” Eren answered with a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. Oh no.

He’d been trying to pick up the pace as he neared the top of the hill despite himself. People usually thought Eren was very self-disciplined. How else could someone get up early on the weekends just to go run twenty miles? Really, he had a lack of self-control. However, rather than taking too many days off, he went the other direction, accumulating a massive variety of overuse injuries in his relatively short running career. He did too much, too hard, and too fast. Being so zealous was great in theory, but in practice it had just as many drawbacks as it did advantages. Even now, he ignored everything else his body was saying, thinking to himself _I just need to make it to the top_. The moment he slowed down at the peak, however, he felt his throat constrict in a last ditch effort to keep the things in his stomach down. Unfortunately, he needed to breathe, and the moment after he did a horrible retching sound left his throat. He bent over the side of the trail and heaved three times, each time bringing up something bright red and sticky. 

“Fuck,” Eren gasped.

Levi had no idea what it looked like when someone threw up blood. He didn’t find out that day.

“Is that Gatorade?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Eren took a deep inhale and then kept walking, “God, I drank that like half an hour ago...what a waste,” he lamented. He mentally added some more marks to his calorie deficit. He took a small sip of his precious water supply, afraid of both running out of it and potentially throwing it back up.

“Here…take this,” Levi began.

He started untying a soaking wet bandana from around his neck. Most of the ice had already melted out of it, but he felt a few cubes still rattling around in there as he passed it to the taller man.

Eren immediately reached into the opening and smeared one of them on his face until it melted completely. Then he reached for a second one and popped it in his mouth. He pressed the cold, wet piece of cotton to his face.

“Fuck, this is the nicest thing I’ve ever felt,” his voice was muffled. When he’d had enough of shoving his face into the fabric, he started to hand it back.

“Keep it for now,” Levi stated.

“There’s still some ice left if you want it,”

“I know. Keep it. I’m not the one overheating right now,”

Eren wasn’t about to complain. He started tying it around his own neck as the two runner’s walked around a bend in the trail. Eren nearly moaned when he saw the trail snake back into the dense forest of trees up ahead.

“Thank fucking god,” He exclaimed as he started walking a little more briskly.

As they trudged back into the shade, the air temperature cooled noticeably and Eren felt like crying in relief. He, however, didn’t have the fluids to spare for it. He couldn’t hold back any longer and chugged about half of what was left of his water. He desperately wanted more but couldn’t really afford it.

Levi looked over at the shallow sloshing sound of an almost-empty water bottle and noticed how little Eren had left.

“How much farther is it to the next aid station?”

Eren looked at his watch, “Uh...A little over two and a half miles,”

“Take this too,” Levi pulled the soft water bottle from the left chest pocket of his hydration pack and shoved it in Eren’s direction.

“Don’t you need that?” He said, looking sharply at the empty water bottle on his right chest pocket.

Levi was already undoing the chest straps and reaching into the back of the pack to reveal another soft water bottle. He also took a few bites of an already opened Cliff bar that was in there. 

“Nope,” He said simply.

Eren took one of the water bottles off his hand and placed it under his arm, unscrewing the cap of the other one and then pouring the contents of Levi’s water bottle into his. He chugged about half of that right away.

They walked for another ten or so minutes complaining about the heat and how Eren was sure the toenail on his big toe was going to fall off as soon as he took off his shoes. Levi’s feet were starting to ache this far into the race, but otherwise he was feeling the itch to get back to running, especially since they were out of the sun.

“How do you feel?” He asked. He wasn’t obligated to stay by Eren’s side, but he wasn't going all out for this race like he normally would. Plus, if he was honest, he was a little worried this guy might accidentally kill himself.

“Honestly, I think the nausea’s starting to go away,” Eren lied to himself, “I also think the endorphins are receding back into my brain; I want to cut off my toe,”

“You feel good enough to run?”

Eren took another deep gulp of water. Wasn’t like he really had a choice.

“Yeah, fuck it, let’s party,” and set off at a shuffle.

*

Armin and Mikasa were starting to get worried. In Eren’s race plan, he was supposed to have arrived at this aid station half an hour ago which, naturally, meant things were not actually going to plan. It wasn’t totally surprising, as things rarely ever went perfectly in any race, especially as the distances got longer. All they could do now, though, was twiddle their thumbs and wait.

On the bright side, they’d made tentative friends with another runner’s crew. They’d parked their cars and set up camp right next to each other at the aid station. Armin overheard the other group talking about their college days and quickly realized they were talking about the school him, Mikasa, and Eren had all graduated from.

Soon enough, they joined their two little circles of lawn chairs in one large half crescent. Erwin, who had clearly not gone to college at the same time as Isabel and Farlan, offered them beers, which Armin politely declined and Mikasa accepted. They talked about their majors, what they did for work, if they ran too. It was small talk, but it kept their minds off of worrying.

Eventually, Mikasa started getting restless. She paced around the small space they’d claimed and tapped her foot restlessly.

“I’m gonna walk up to the trailhead. I think Eren’s coming,”

Armin was about to question her, but as soon as the words left her mouth, a race volunteer from the end of the parking lot shouted “two-thirty-one and one-thirty-six!”

“Eren!” Mikasa exclaimed at the same time Isabel declared, “That’s Levi!”

Both women took off at a jog to meet up with their runners, Isabel looking excited and Mikasa radiating nervous energy.

“Eren! We’re over here. What do you need?” She asked immediately.

“I need to fucking cool off. I ran out of fluids. I threw up a few miles ago and I still feel nauseous as hell. I haven’t eaten anything in the last hour. I can’t eat any more goos. God, I feel like shit right now,”

“It’s alright, you’re doing fine,” She reassured him. He was behind schedule but nowhere near cut-offs.

Eren walked over to the aid station tent and slammed down a cup of pickle juice and a cup of ginger ale, even though he knew the cause of his nausea was indigestion due to a lack of blood flow. It was all in his extremities and at the surface of his skin, trying to keep him cool. He picked up a thick slice of watermelon that tasted godly because it was still cold and force-fed himself a handful of M&M’s. 

“Here, come sit down,” Mikasa led him away from the tent and to the third lawn chair that had been sitting empty since they’d gotten there. Levi was sitting in the next chair over sucking the life out of orange slices like it was his job. Armin was speaking to a tall blond man who was busy refilling Levi’s water bottles. Eren sat down so hard he thought he almost broke the chair. He groaned at the ache in his hips that he’d been trying to ignore until now.

“Looks like our crews got to know each other,” Levi pointed out. 

Eren put his head in his hands, “Small world,”

“Here, give me the bandana,” Levi finished eating the orange slice in his hand and held it out. Eren untied it from around his neck and gave it back.

“Farlan, can you fill this with more ice and also get the sleeves from my bag,” The other blond man took the green cloth from him and opened up a cooler,”

It was Eren’s turn to speak up, “Mikasa, I don’t want the hand-helds anymore, I don’t think I’ll make it eleven more miles in this heat with them, can you get my hydration pack from the car and fill it up. Also, Armin, can you get me a bandaid, one of them came unstuck,”

He was now trying to force-feed himself a poptart and not gag at the texture of the filling inside. He’d been eating mostly gels all day and that combined with the sick feeling in his stomach was playing mind games with him. Armin handed him a bandaid while he held the toaster pastry in his mouth. He lifted up his shirt, ripped the half-peeled bandaid from his left nipple and replaced it. Mikasa came back with his pack and a full two liters of ice-cold water inside.

“Are your salt pills in there?” She asked. This is why Eren thought Mikasa made a good crewmate. She thought of everything.

“Yeah, thank you,”

Just as he was shrugging on the pack, Levi’s arm clad in a white, detachable sleeve dropped the bandana--now full of ice--on his lap.

“Don’t you want that?” Eren asked.

“That’s what these are for,” Levi slapped his bicep, indicating the sleeves. He bent over into the cooler and started shoving ice into them.

Eren finished adjusting his hydration pack, sucking down more ice water from the hose and tying the bandana around his neck at the same time.

Levi took his water bottles back from Erwin. He shoved two in the chest pockets and slowly heaved himself up and off of the chair with only a small grunt.

“Ready?” he asked Eren as Erwin slipped another soft water bottle and a candy bar in the back compartment.

“Unfortunately,” Eren slipped the rest of the poptart into his mouth despite the outcry from his stomach and held out his hands. There was no way in hell he was getting out of that chair under his own power if he could help it. Armin and Mikasa grabbed each of his arms and hauled him up.

The two men once again took off running, much to their bodies' protest. A few spectators and other runners’ crew members clapped and cheered as they made their way through the rest of the aid station.

“We’ll see you at the finish line!” Armin called after them.

“Don’t DNF!” Isabel heckled. A loud, mocking “ha!” could be heard from Levi in response.

*

Back on the trail, Eren was trying to distinguish if the feeling in his esophagus was a signal he was going to throw up again or just burp. The ice in the bandana felt amazing, especially as it melted and the water ran down his back. Sometimes he switched it to the front and brought it up to his face.

Eren checked his watch and started doing math, which wasn’t easy when every gram of carbohydrate he’d been consuming was being used to fuel his body and not his brain. At the beginning of the day, he’d desperately wanted to finish in under eleven hours. The race started at six o’clock that morning and it was now a little past three in the afternoon. They had eleven miles left to go and according to GPS they were jogging at just above a ten-minute mile pace. There was one major climb still left. Sub-eleven probably wasn’t going to happen unless Jim Walmsely himself came down and imbued Eren with his powers, but considering Eren had briefly but seriously considered dropping out just before he’d puked, he’d take it. His Ultra-Signup profile still had no DNF’s listed and he planned to keep it that way for as long as he could. He was too stubborn to quit.

About three-quarters of a mile out from the aid station, Eren’s stomach started to settle enough that he thought he could open his mouth without anything coming out. Levi had been trying to strike up another conversation when they left, but Eren’s clipped responses belied his GI distress, so Levi let it go for the time being.

“God, okay,” Eren panted out, “My hips ache like a motherfucker right now and my quads are halfway to being thrashed. How are you holding up?” Levi hadn’t said much about how he was doing while Eren was trying not to die beside him, but he looked as fresh as someone could be after running forty miles.

“Well, my feet don’t feel any better. I think I can feel my hamstrings tightening up by the step but I feel a lot better after hitting that aid station, honestly. These last ten miles are gonna be a bitch but it’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’m trying to take it kind of easy because I’m running the 50k tomorrow too,”

“Jeez, and people tell me I need to take a break,” Eren knew this race had a 50/50 challenge component to it, but he didn’t think he’d actually meet someone doing it.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,”

A lull in the conversation occurred, which both Eren and Levi used as an opportunity to take a water break. The taller man popped a salt pill for good measure, and then it was just the steady rhythm of their footsteps.

“So, what’s your J-O-B?” Eren was suddenly curious.

“I work at a gardening depot, basically,” Levi explained.

“Oh, are you like a florist?”

“Not really. I mean, sometimes I cut flowers for arrangements. Mostly I just water and feed everything, do some pruning, huck bags of mulch and dirt into people’s cars”--that explained why his arms looked so nice, something a lot of runners lacked--”ring people up, that sort of thing,”

“I see. That sounds kind of nice, actually. Do you like it?”

“It pays the bills. My boss is pretty nice, if not annoying sometimes. It could be worse,” Levi concluded, “What about you?”

“I do carpentry unofficially,” Eren used air quotes around the word unofficially, which Levi raised his eyebrow at, “Mostly I build and repair people’s decks and shit. Sometimes I build furniture. Repair the occasional roof...that kind of stuff,”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I have a degree in business actually, but that’s a whole other story,” and one he wasn’t particularly fond of either. 

Levi nodded but didn’t pry.

“What about you? You go to college?”

“Uh...no, I didn’t,” and didn’t offer anything more.

“I don’t blame you. I think it was kind of a waste, anyway,” He said the second part flippantly, but much quieter.

Levi turned his hands up in a lazy shrug.

The conversation lulled once again. Normally, Eren wouldn’t have minded--he was fine listening to the crunch of footsteps on old foliage and small stones--but without a distraction, all his mind could focus on was the mild roiling still going on in his stomach. He was gonna end up paying for this big time at the end of the race.

“How long have you been running for?” He asked, both to continue the distraction and because he genuinely wanted to know. If Levi was really doing the 50/50 version of the race and Eren’s pace was him going easy, the other man was clearly a league above him. Although, Eren was having a pretty shit race.

“Oh, you know…’bout nine and a half hours. Little over,” Levi said, checking his own watch.

Eren rolled his eyes and gave a sarcastic laugh.

“You know what the hell I mean,” He was grinning anyway. Levi smirked back at him.

“It’s been kind of on and off since middle school. I ran cross country in junior high and a little bit in high school, then I kind of…” He furrowed his brow just the slightest bit, “...fell out of it for a few years. I picked it back up when I turned 21 and I haven’t stopped since,” the shorter man explained.

“How old are you now?”

“25,”

“Got one year on me,” Eren said, “Wait...that means we probably started running again around the same time; I got into it when I was twenty,”

Levi hummed thoughtfully.

“Like you said earlier, small world,” reminding Eren of the friendliness between their crew.

“Maybe our paths were always meant to cross and we’re fulfilling some kind of karmic destiny right now,” he said jokingly.

“You really believe that?” He asked with no real curiosity behind it.

“You never know,” was all Eren replied.

They kept on, discussing things namely related to running. It was a rare joy to both of them. When Eren told people he liked to run fifty miles for “fun”, most people responded with some comment about driving that far and feigned interest. It was incomprehensible to them. The first time he met someone who said “Me too!”, it was like an instantaneous, unbreakable bond had formed between them. Eren was still good friends with that person. He lived in the next state over but Eren had crewed for him multiple times. He crewed for Eren in his first fifty. He was at a wedding right now, though, so it was just Armin and Mikasa supporting him this time. He was surprised at how good they were at it too, despite not being runners themselves. Well, Mikasa had actually picked it up since his first fifty mile race, inspired by him, or so she said. He thought she must’ve found some other internal motivation by now. Maybe--maybe--he could inspire someone to start, but deciding to keep at it was something you only did on your own. He’d honestly cheered like an embarrassing soccer mom when he watched her cross the finish line of her first half marathon just a month prior. In fact, she’d done it so fast Eren was almost affronted by how easy she made it look.

Then they drifted to the topic of shoes.

“I really like those Salomon’s. They’re a good color--kinda reminds me of a sunset,” Eren noted.

“Thanks. They’re my go-to pair at the moment,”

“What other’s you got?”

“They’re all Salomon’s, just different kinds,”

“Really? I could never,” Eren seemed incredulous.

“What do you mean? Are you some sort of anti-brand-whore?” Levi’s brow furrowed.

Eren laughed, “I don’t know, are you a brand-whore, Mr. S-LAB?” referring to both his shoes and his hydration vest.

“My shirt’s Under Armour,” he pointed out. Eren turned his head to the side to see half of a logo.

“So it is,” he also noticed his shorts were Nike. Eren didn’t give a shit about Nike road running, but he was a slut for their trail running team, “Anyway, what I mean is, those are some flat-ass shoes, man”

Levi looked down to see Eren’s shoes, which had comparatively thick soles but was actually rather mild for that brand.

“I see you’re a HOKA man, yourself,”

“I just feel like my joints get completely wrecked unless I’ve got some solid cushioning. I wore Altra’s when I first started running trails and I think I just about got bursitis in every bursa in my lower body,” Eren thought about his aching hips...he was going to have to ice those tonight.

“Fair point,” Levi mused, “But the important HOKA opinion is about the TenNines. Thoughts?” he gave nothing away.

“Those are the--”

“Yeah,”

Eren gave his honest opinion, “Looks kind of stupid. What was even the point of doing that? If I were wearing those I’d probably trip and fall on my face. If I wanted my heel to look that big I’d just give myself tendonitis in my achilles,”

“I think it was made to make running downhill easier, but no one runs only downhill, so I don’t think it’s worth it, especially if you heel-strike,”

The taller man simply nodded.

For the valiant effort Eren had put into ignoring his stomach in the last couple of miles, it was starting to pilfer his attention again. It always started with denial, but it was quickly becoming obvious that this issue probably wasn’t going to be resolved before the end of the race. It was just too hot and trying to digest food was not his body’s top priority. The next eight miles were going to suck ass and he’d just have to deal with it. It wasn’t called an endurance run for nothing.

“Levi, I think you’re gonna have to go on without me. I gotta slow down or I’m gonna puke again,” Eren made a motion like he was trying to swallow something down with great difficulty, as if to illustrate his point.

The small man frowned and slowed down slightly, “You sure?”

“Yeah. You want your bandana back?” He moved his hand to his neck to untie it.

“No, keep it, I was gonna wait for you at the finish line anyway...If we weren’t going to finish together,” Levi added at the end.

“You’re just using me for pacing, and not even in a flattering way,” but Eren smiled as he voiced the accusation.

“I would never. Anyway, I guess I’ll see you on the other side then,” Levi gave him a meaningful look and started to speed up, “And don’t kick the bucket!” he called behind him.

“Yes, sir!” he mock-saluted.

Eren slowed his pace until his watch read about 12’30”. This was about as slow as he could get without actually walking. It helped the nausea only a little, but he didn’t want to lose any more time. That climb was coming up too. It was nearly a half-mile long and some double-digit grade he didn’t want to think about, but at least no one could fault him for walking then.

*

A little over two hours later, the finish line was finally in sight. Eren almost burst into tears upon seeing the colorful flags and sponsored advertisements that lined the last hundred meters of the course. Once he’d seen the small but encouraging “one mile left!” sign, he tried to jog just a bit faster, which quickly became the hardest thing he’d ever done. It was all he could do to just put one foot in front of the other. There were so many ways to measure a mile, he thought. Four laps around a track, a couple thousand footsteps, a song or two in a playlist, almost gagging a handful of times. No matter how he cut it, it was the longest mile of Eren’s life.

About a quarter-hour shy of twelve hours, Eren shuffled over the finish line to the cheers and applause of both his and Levi’s crew, as well as Levi himself and a smattering of spectators and other racers. Just as Eren slowed down and spotted the race director coming to give him a medal, the physiology of overexerting himself for the last few hundred meters caught up with him as he made a beeline to a conveniently placed trash can and threw up one more time. He probably should’ve seen that coming.

Eren spit into the trash can, then swished some water from his pack around his mouth and spit that out too. When he pulled his head out of the bin, the race director placed the medal around his neck, asked if he was alright, then gave him a firm pat on the back and congratulated him. Levi approached Eren first, imitating the RD and giving him a few hard slaps on the back.

“Nothing like throwing up at the finish line to know you really gave it your best shot,” he said.

“That was by _far_ not my best shot,” Eren panted out. His insides had been jumping through hoops for over a third of the race. If not for that, he estimated he probably would’ve finished at least an hour earlier.

“Well, you can’t have a good race every time. In some ways, I might even say it’s more badass to run fifty miles while puking your guts out than to have a perfect race,” the shorter man shrugged.

Armin and Mikasa interrupted then, nearly tackling Eren to the ground on accident and congratulating him. He gave his gracious thanks, acknowledged truthfully that he couldn’t have done it without them, but ended it with “...that was probably the worst race of my life,”

“That’s okay, we love you anyway,” Mikasa said as Armin nodded in agreement.

Eventually, Eren and Levi moved away to stretch in the grass before their bodies decided to lock up, which Levi’s was already on it’s way to doing. Eren had never been flexible to start with, and really, it had only gotten worse since he started running. He was honestly shocked that Levi could touch his palms to the ground from a straight-leg standing position. Eren couldn’t even scrape the toe box of his shoes with his fingertips.

“You have an unfair advantage,” He grunted out.

“And what’s that?” Levi questioned.

“You’re naturally closer to the ground,”

Levi could hear the smirk in Eren’s voice.

“...Shut the fuck up,” he warned with the hint of a smile gracing his down-turned face.

Their crews rallied around them, yelling at them both to reach farther, bend deeper, and generally just fucked around while they pretended to play yoga drill sergeant. When the sun began to set, Isabel complained about being hungry.

“What are you talking about? You ate half the snacks!” Farlan reminded her.

“Yeah, but that was hours ago,”

Erwin was already pulling up Yelp on his phone.

“There’s a pizzeria not too far from here,” he told them.

And that was how Eren found himself at a table for seven with five pizzas placed haphazardly in the middle, in a crowded restaurant where half the other patrons were also race participants and their crews.

Only an hour or two after the race, Eren was counterintuitively not very hungry after placing his body under such an undue amount of stress. Levi, however, was busy scarfing two slices down at once. Eren was focusing on forcing himself just to eat half of one. He chose a piece from the meat-lover’s pizza, but it was less about his love for meat and more about maximizing his protein consumption. Despite the fact that his appetite was still non-existent, he knew his body needed the building blocks to start repairing his muscles and replenish his energy stores. He also knew he’d be raiding everyone’s leftovers in the middle of the night after his digestive tract settled. Neither Mikasa nor Armin would blame him.

The two runners kept up their post-race discussion while picking at the slices on their plates. As it turned out, Levi finished nearly forty minutes ahead of Eren, which caused the taller man to start coughing uncontrollably when he accidentally inhaled part of a pepperoni. Forty minutes in eight miles? What the hell? It was hard to do the math considering there was no way to know how fast Levi had gotten through that last climb, but he had to have been pulling seven-minute miles out of his ass to make up that much time. And at the end of a fifty-miler? What the hell was Levi doing with the back end of the mid-packers? What kind of beast was he? Eren tried to school his expression into one of only mild shock instead of dropping his jaw.

By the end of the night, Eren and Levi had exchanged phone numbers and, more importantly, Strava profiles. All the while, Eren enthusiastically agreed to see Levi off for his 50k before they started their drive back home, which meant Eren had another 5am wake-up call tomorrow. They parted ways shortly after, seeing as how the sooner Levi fell asleep, the more his body could repair itself before tomorrow. Their respective groups bid each other good night. Eren tried to focus on the fact he would get to see Levi one more time that weekend, and not about how reluctant he was to go back to his real life. 


	2. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek inside Eren's family and a belated birthday present from his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ain't gonna believe the shit I've been through since chapter one!!! But iI'll spare you my excuses for why this is so late until the end.
> 
> Also, I don't know anything about business and only slightly more about carpentry or whatever so please kindly suspend your disbelief. I apologize for not knowing what I'm talking about lol
> 
> This isn't my favorite chapter, but I wanted to get something out. Hope you enjoy <3

“Eren, aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?”

Carla set down two armfuls of groceries on the kitchen counter, wondering why her son hadn’t moved from her living room couch in two days. Disturbed from a light doze, Eren stretched his arms out and groaned.

“I postponed until Thursday.”

Carla sighed and frowned at her son, “That’s not very professional,” she told him.

“Neither is falling off a roof,” he retorted.

Eren had been hired by an older couple a few miles away to fix the siding on their house. Through a strange and unpredictable series of events, the mild windstorm they’d experienced a few weeks back—the remnants of a category three hurricane from the gulf—had caused a telephone pole in front of their house to lean slightly inwards. This, in turn, caused the powerline connected to their house to droop over their driveway where a very unobservant delivery driver snagged his large truck on the line, disconnecting both the powerline and the siding from their house.

Eren had driven by last week to inspect the damage and give them an estimate of the cost. Unfortunately, there was no way to get the exact yellow-colored siding the couple needed, so he was going to have to transplant it from a different section of the house. When Eren told them that, the woman decided she wanted to have completely new siding installed on the upper section of the house where he was planning on doing the dissection, as well as replacing all of their window shutters. In Eren’s mind, it was a job best suited for at least a team of two or three people, but as long as the couple didn’t mind the project taking a few extra days, he was more than happy to do it for them—it would just have to wait until after the race, not that he specified that.

“Eren, you can’t keep slacking off. If you’re not timely or reliable, word will get around and your business is never going to get off the ground,” she gave him a pointed look.

Her statement hit a nerve in Eren, but he had been trying to control his anger for a long time—something he usually did with running, not that that could help him right now—so he tried to keep his voice even when he spoke.

“Mom, I’m not slacking off. My hips are still sore from Saturday and I’m trying to give them a break to heal before it turns into something more serious. It’s not exactly fun to go up and down a ladder like this, or stand around on a roof for hours. That’s why I’m down here on the couch—so I don’t have to go up and down the stairs. Plus, I was planning on working on those kitchen cabinets the Peterson’s wanted later anyway. I just rearranged my schedule, is all,” he defended.

It was mostly true, anyway. Eren was actually planning to wait one more day before working on the cabinets. It was a fairly simple project—cheap, quick, and easy. The family that hired him didn’t need them until this weekend, and it would only take Eren about a day to finish what he already had, but if it got his mom off his back then he’d work on it in the garage later. At least it didn’t require too much moving around—all he had left really was attaching the doors, the knobs, some wood varnishing and a few other finishing touches.

However, he purposely avoided the other topic his mom brought up. He hated when his mom called the odd jobs he did for people around town his “business”. It didn’t even have a name, though his services were spread by word-of-mouth advertising for the most part, so his mother might’ve been right about word getting around.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted it to be a business. Despite the fact that he had a business degree—including a specialization in entrepreneurial management at the insistence of his father—he wasn’t really sure if this was something he wanted to devote all his time too, especially for the rest of his life, or at least until he became too old and feeble to scale two-story houses and use power tools safely. Eren didn’t think there was one single thing he wanted to do for the entirety of his life, except maybe run. He’d been planning mostly on “going with the flow” for now, although there didn’t seem to be many enticing or promising currents for him to ride career-wise.

Well, his father had mentioned more than once that he could, in no uncertain terms, pull the necessary strings to get Eren an administrative position at the company he was gunning to be the CFO for. It was a good starting position for someone like Eren to start climbing up the corporate ladder, especially since he had the required managerial credentials needed to move up. It had a great starting salary too. After that, if his father were promoted to CFO when Mr. Kruger retired in a few years, it would be smooth sailing for Eren from then on out, despite the questionable nepotism of it all.

But there was absolutely nothing Eren hated more than the idea of sitting at a desk job for forty or more hours per week.

It felt like he couldn’t win. On one hand, he was being offered a silver spoon to put in his mouth. All he had to do was accept his dad’s offer and sacrifice almost all of his ideals along the way. Eren had never much cared for money, seeing the way it changed his father as he climbed the ranks, growing more and more entitled while simultaneously neglecting his family. He came home at all hours of the night and left before anyone got up in the morning. On the weekends he didn’t want to be bothered but he would yell at Eren or his mother if something wasn’t properly taken care of. It ultimately culminated in his parent’s divorce during Eren’s last year of high school. Eren hated what excessive money had done to his family, to his father. He had no problem, however, with taking it off his dad’s hands. If Grisha wanted to pay for a degree that Eren didn’t really want—one his father had practically shoved down his throat—he wasn’t going to stop him. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have his mother pay for single cent of it, not after he’d left her in the dust. Not after he’d waited until Eren turned eighteen to separate from his mother, just so he wouldn’t have to pay child support.

On the other hand, Eren had found his love for running and his current occupation fluctuating slowly from synergistic harmony to harsh conflict. A few years ago, Eren had thought it was a perfect combination. The hard work he did in the sweltering sun, running around building decks, sheds, and furniture, fixing roofs and house siding for hours at a time had given him a sturdy aerobic foundation to build off and enough stamina to run at least a couple miles the first time he laced up his shoes. Back when Eren was only running twenty or thirty miles a week, it was easy to squeeze in a run before or after work and still have energy required to finish a project, or to go to client’s house on a rest day and use work as a form of active recovery, especially since it used a lot of his upper body strength rather than his legs. It got his blood pumping but gave his lower body somewhat of a break at the same time.

However, once he started hitting those higher mileages—forty, fifty, sixty or more miles in a week—he started encountering problems. Having all of his weight land on one leg 160 times a minute for _hours_ every week was bound to cause some aches and pains throughout his body and, especially in the beginning, it was hard to know how far was too far. It was hard to know when to pull back and rest, especially since Eren never wanted to. He’d learned the hard way that not listening to your body was the quickest way to get injured and benched for lot longer than he would’ve if he’d just taken it a little easier. Some of it was inevitable—learning to speak your body’s language was something that could often only be done through trial and error—but the consequences to his work were a little more troublesome, depending on the severity of his injury.

During the times he was injured, if he was unable to go to work, then his mother would have to pick up extra shifts at the restaurant she’d started working at after Grisha left her, which ate at Eren’s conscience. He knew his mother hated working there, but his father had been the breadwinner in their household. When he left, Carla had had to get a job. Eren easily could’ve went to live with his father, but it was no secret to anyone that he still resented him for everything he’d done, despite all his father’s attempts to get in his good graces, including paying for college, which did nothing for him in Eren’s mind. In Eren’s mind, paying for his degree was least he could do. Instead, Eren stayed with his mother, sending his paychecks from his part-time job at the university gymnasium home to her and then, after graduation, continuing to help her pay the bills.

It was no secret, either, that his mother wasn’t too fond of Eren’s hobby, specifically for that reason. It had been fine when he could handle the pounding his body took, in fact like most mothers, she encouraged her son to get some exercise when he’d first started, as long as it didn’t interfere with his schoolwork. The first time Eren ran a marathon, she’d been as proud as a mother could be. What she hadn’t anticipated was the existence of footraces beyond that distance or her son’s unending desire to constantly be pushing his own limits.

Otherwise, if Eren weren’t injured too badly, he would just have to slog through work and deal with the pain, despite the over-the-counter painkillers he probably took too many of. The pain made him slower and less efficient, usually leading to longer hours on the job for less pay. Moreover, it was a lot easier for him to aggravate a bothersome joint or tendon when he worked, accidentally turning a small niggle into a full-fledged “-itis” of some kind. Balancing his work-life with his training was a careful juggling act and Eren was an incorrigible clown.

He’d been having doubts about his current line of work for the better part of a year, but there wasn’t much he could really do about it, unless he forfeited his morals or training. That was something he couldn’t do—he still had such far ways to go if he ever wanted to run Western States.

Beside him, Eren was taken out of his thoughts when his phone dinged. He smiled.

“What?” his mother asked faux-suspiciously, wondering why her son was grinning wide enough to be seen from the kitchen.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Grisha and Uncle Theodore are coming over later tonight,” but that wasn’t why he was smiling.

“What? Why?” Carla asked, almost alarmed. Grisha had only been to their home a handful of times since the divorce, usually for inauspicious purposes. “And don’t call him Grisha, he’s your father,” Eren ignored her and rolled his eyes internally. Why did she care?

“Don’t know. Said they have some sort of belated birthday present for me,” he shrugged.

“What about your Aunt Faye?”

“She has a night shift at the hospital, apparently.”

“Well, tell them they can’t stay for dinner.” Carla had nothing against her ex-husband’s sister and brother-in-law, but there was no way in hell she was going to sit through a meal with Grisha, not on one of her precious few days off.

“You’re the boss,” he replied. His phone dinged again.

 _Levi, 2:52pm:_ hey

 _Levi, 2:53pm:_ are you watching walmsley’s 100k world record attempt rn?

Oh shit, that was today? Eren knew he was getting ready to try to beat the world record as part of a marketing campaign for a line of running shoes from his sponsor, but he’d had absolutely no idea when that would be. He just assumed he would hear about it beforehand through the grapevine. Guess that’s where Levi came in to save the day.

 _Eren, 2:55pm:_ oh shit no I had no idea

 _Eren, 2:55pm:_ where is it? hows it going?

 _Levi, 2:56pm:_ they’re livestreaming it on hoka’s youtube channel. He’s almost finished. I don’t think he’s going to break 6 hours but he might break the record, its way too close to tell

Eren immediately pulled his laptop from his side and pulled up the livestream. He knew the A-goal was to run 100 kilometers and break the six hour barrier. He supposed the B-goal was just to break the world record, which was six hours, nine minutes, and fourteen seconds, according to the little box in the corner of the screen. The man was running on flat pavement looking ragged, although his form was still miles better than Eren’s even on fresh legs. But…was that blood on his shoulder?

 _Eren, 2:58pm:_ yo whats with the blood??

 _Levi, 2:59pm:_ he ran into a fence or something. I only watched some of the beginning and right now. Im at work

Damn. Not only did running into a fence surely slow him down, but that was also precious oxygen flowing down his arm. It wasn’t a lot, but with how close this race was shaping up to be he wondered if it would matter.

The clock just clicked over six hours when the elite runner had a mile and a half to go. Despite the fact that the video made him look like any regular runner with a long stride, Eren knew the man was probably running some insane pace he could only hope to keep up with for a mile or two, let alone over sixty. He was on the edge of his seat.

Ultrarunning wasn’t exactly a spectator sport, but moments like this made Eren wish these kinds of races were televised more often. After another handful of minutes, he rounded the bend to the homestretch, precious seconds ticking away.

 _Eren, 3:07pm:_ Holy shit GOOOOOO!!!!!!

Eren desperately wanted to see a higher turnover in the runner’s legs, practically begging in his mind, but the fact that he was only a third of a mile away and he wasn’t meant he was already giving it his all. He was so close to the finish and he was running out of time. It was still too close to call. The tension was unimaginable.

 _Levi, 3:08pm:_ Tell me what happens I can’t watch

Eren’s fingers were flying over the keyboard.

 _Eren, 3:08pm:_ don’t worry I cant look away

In the end, Nao Kazami continued to reign over the 100 kilometer world record by a mere eleven seconds. Eren couldn’t possibly imagine what was going through the pro-runner’s head right now. Actually, he probably had a pretty good idea. What if he hadn’t run into that fence? What if all of his blood was still in his body? What if he had pushed just that much harder? Eren thought if that were him, he’d probably scream as loud as he could the second he caught his breath. He couldn’t wait to see the Strava data, though.

Eren and Levi continued to text for a while after the race, lamenting how terrible it was to miss a goal by so little. It was an experience they both had in spades, always trying for new personal records, even in training. They were surprised to find out they had a lot in common, at least when it came to running. They talked a lot about different practice regimens—hill training, tempo runs, how often they did strength training, what kind of cross-training they liked best, if any at all. They talked nutrition, gear, the strategies they used when the miles got arduous and boring. They learned new things from each other. That was why Eren always liked talking to runner’s he met at races—he always seemed to gain new insight or at least have different perspectives to consider.

The one major difference between them, though, was that Levi did not have nearly the horrendous history of injury that Eren did. The only serious injury he’d sustained in his running career was a sprained ankle from landing on his foot wrong that happened back in high school. It was extremely rare for people that ran the distances that they did to not get at least one overuse injury. In fact, Eren had never met another runner like Levi, the more he thought about it. The younger man wanted to know all his secrets. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of new information to be divulged. The shorter man just teased him about his lack of flexibility and told him to stretch more. Maybe Levi actually listened to the signals his body gave him. Maybe he just had better self-control than Eren. He certainly seemed like it.

 _Eren, 4:46pm:_ im thinking about running a western states qualifier later this year

 _Levi, 4:49pm:_ oh? all the best to you then

 _Eren, 4:50pm:_ wbu? Idk how u feel about ws but if u want we could run one together

 _Eren, 4:50pm:_ I mean we dont have to stay together but I doubt either of us wouldnt make the cutoff

 _Levi, 5:25pm_ : I already ran a qualifier earlier this year

Eren pretended to himself that he wasn’t disappointed. He was in the market for a training partner, even if they couldn’t actually run together very often. It helped to have someone rooting for you, even if it was just over the phone. Eren didn’t particularly need the motivation, but it was nice to discuss training with someone who shared the same hopes and fears as you. Not to mention, he really did want to see Levi again at some point.

 _Eren, 5:29pm:_ oh damn, think youll get in?

 _Levi, 5:31pm:_ this is my fourth year qualifying and I doubt it will turn out any different than the last three

 _Eren, 5:32pm:_ hey u never kno

 _Levi, 5:32pm:_ ha sure. whatever you say

As much as Eren was still a novice to the process of qualifying for and trying to get a spot at Western, he didn’t let the slim chances that he’d get picked dash his hopes or his determination. There were only three ways to get into such a prestigious race. The first way was to place in the top ten for your sex at Western States the previous year—that was for the elites. The second way was to place in the top two for your sex at a few select Montrail Ultra Cup Races—those spots were known as golden tickets and were also mainly for elites. The third and final way to get in was the way for all average joes around the world—run a qualifying race and get picked in the lottery. And, as Levi reiterated to him, with the growth of trail running as a sport, the chances of getting picked in the lottery were getting slimmer and slimmer every year—thousands applied for only a few hundred spots. People worked for years just to qualify, and then waited even longer to get selected. Western States was essentially the Superbowl of ultramarathons—it was not a dream you gave up on easily.

Despite Levi’s gloomy outlook on his chances, Eren wasn’t put off in the slightest. If Eren had to wait twenty more years to get picked, he would. He doubted he’d ever stop running. Plus, most trail runners were older anyway, often near or in middle age. Eren would wait his whole life for a chance at the glory he knew awaited him.

*

Eren and Levi had been discussing all things running avidly since they met over the weekend. It invigorated Eren like nothing else, and clearly Levi seemed to reciprocate, or at least didn’t mind indulging the other runner’s enthusiasm. That was, until Eren started asking more personal questions. The younger man thought they were really rather innocuous—things like how Levi had met his friends-slash-crew, how he came to work at the place he did, if he’d moved out as soon as he’d gotten out of high school. Levi’s replies to his qestions were rather vague or outright ignored, especially if Eren double-texted him about two different things, only responding to whatever was safe territory, Eren assumed. Eventually the younger man got the hint and just went with it when Levi tried to change the subject, not faulting him for not wanting to disclose personal things to someone he only met a few days ago, even if Eren thought they’d been hitting it off quite well.

Regardless, when they talked about all things running, time never seemed to move faster. To Levi, it made the tedious hours at work a bit more bearable, and it was great for Eren who would’ve otherwise spent half his week sitting on the couch bored out of his mind. Before the younger man knew it, their avid discussion about the world record attempt and Western States, among other things, was interrupted by a knock on the door. Eren got up with a groan.

Just as he expected, he was greeted by none other than his father and his uncle at the door.

“Hi, Eren!” his father greeted with false cheer, “How have you been? Is your mother home?” he asked nervously, looking around behind his son for any sign of her.

“She’s, uh, upstairs taking a bath, I think,” he responded. That was a lie as far as he knew, but his mother had gone upstairs awhile ago and hadn’t been down since, so he assumed she was trying to avoid Grisha’s visit. He didn’t blame her.

“I see. Well, may we come in?”

Eren moved out of the doorway and gestured for them to come inside. His uncle patted him on the shoulder as he passed and murmured a quiet but genuine “It’s nice to see you again,” which Eren nodded his agreement to.

Grisha sat himself at the four-person table Eren and his mother usually ate dinner at, his uncle following his lead and moving to sit next to him.

“Eren, come sit. There’s something I want to talk to you about,” his father announced.

Eren was immediately suspicious. He’d been hoping whatever gift he’d be receiving from them would be a quick exchange—something they’d hand over that Eren could feign surprise and thanks for and then they could be on their way. He really didn’t want to endure whatever kind of discussion Grisha wanted to have with him and he didn’t understand why his uncle had to be there as well, though he harbored no ill-will towards the man.

“First off, let me apologize for not being able to visit you on your birthday; I was on a business trip in the U.A.E. at the time and everything was just so hectic…anyway, I hope you got my card in the mail,” Grisha started. Eren had gotten his card in the mail—nearly three weeks after his birthday—which he doubted had anything to do with his father’s business trip. It had been a generic birthday card, most likely the first one Grisha had seen in the Hallmark aisle, but it had been stuffed with a few hundred-dollar bills which Eren stashed in his savings. It was a gift that suited its giver—impersonal yet practical.

“Yes, I did. Thank you,” he replied politely. He wished his father would get on with it.

“Of course. Anyway, your mother’s told me that your business has been picking up,”—there it was again, more talk about his “business”, and wait, his _mom_ had told him that? They talked?—"and I know that old Jeep doesn’t have a lot of room for all your supplies, am I right?”

Grisha was, unfortunately, correct. If Eren was working on-site, it usually required him to bring his tools and supplies for the job with him. Most of the time he could fit everything, although he often had two-by-fours and plywood sticking out of the back of his car. He tied the customary red flag around the end, but it still made him nervous, and he didn’t like driving around with the back open on these speedy country roads. It was also true that Eren sometimes forgot things he needed, things that he often—but not always—left in his Jeep, and would have to drive back to get it out of the garage. He wasn’t about to let Grisha know that, though.

“It’s alright. It gets the job done,” was all he said.

“Come on now, Eren,” his uncle interjected, “I know it’d certainly make my job a lot harder if all I had was an SUV,”

His Uncle Theodore was an electrician. Eren didn’t know much about electricity, which is why he occasionally called on his uncle to help him with certain projects when it required his expertise. He’d driven out to job sites with Eren in his van, stocked with every tool and spare part his uncle would ever need. The younger man had to admit he was quietly envious of it, though not for the reasons Grisha would assume if he knew.

“I mean, sure, it’d be nice if the Jeep was a little bigger, I guess, but it’s worked fine for me the past couple of years.” Eren wondered if this was going where he thought it was going. He didn’t know how he felt about it.

“Well, I think you’ll like this,” Grisha exclaimed as he reached into his black leather messenger bag. He pulled something out of it and tossed it to Eren, which he caught with quick reflexes.

It was a set of car keys. Eren narrowed his eyes incredulously.

“Don’t look at me like that, come on,” Grisha got up and gestured for him to follow. He walked back out of the front door, Eren and his uncle who had a wide smile on his face trailing behind.

Parked out in the driveway was, of course, Eren’s Jeep, his mother’s small sedan, his father’s spotless new BMW and, finally, his uncle’s van with a comically under-sized red bow stuck on the front of the hood. Eren’s jaw dropped without him even realizing it.

He turned to his uncle, “You’re…giving me the van?”

“Sure am!” he grinned and slapped his nephew on the back a few times, “I’m retiring, so I don’t need to haul this ol’ clunker around anymore. I was gonna sell ‘er online, but Grisha suggested that you’d make good use of it, so I sold it to him at a family discount,” he laughed loudly, “She’s all yours.”

“Jesus, I don’t even know what to say…thank you so much,” Eren replied, specifically to his aunt’s husband. He was genuinely shocked.

“You’re welcome,” his father and uncle replied in unison.

Eren could honestly say this was the best gift he’d ever gotten, but he was the only one acutely aware of a specific irony that made him want to burst out laughing at the same time. His father had been showering Eren with gifts and money ever since he separated from his mother. He rarely saw him, so Eren could only assume that these presents were given to him out of guilt or to try to win him over to his father’s side—quite possibly both. Unfortunately for Grisha, who rarely bothered to talk to his son, it had been a long time since he’d been up to date on what went on in Eren’s life and the kinds of things he was interested in, so most of the time his gifts were, at best, impersonal offerings of cash like he’d given Eren for his birthday and, at worst, completely useless to the young man. Eren usually resold the latter things for even more impersonal, but at least useful, cash. What was hilarious to him this time, however, was that Grisha had given him what would’ve been another tone-deaf gift for this “business” of his that he wasn’t particularly committed to, but instead had unknowingly given Eren exactly what he’d been saving up for since he’d graduated college.

Grisha was right—he would definitely make good use of this van, but it would have absolutely nothing to do with his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay--the reason this is so late is bc my joints got their shit together like immediately after I posted the first chapter. I was literally running like double my weekly mileage with no problems so I was spending most of my free time running. Then THEN i fucking broke my foot!!!!!!! and guess where!!!! in the Smoky Mountains, completely by coincidence!!! I wasn't even supposed to be there I was supposed to be in California!!!! and then I stopped engaging with ultrarunning content (and also just people jogging on the street irl content) for like two months because it made me depressed. BUT I'm cleared for running again so were BACK on the GRIND. And I'm very happy to see the fitness community on ao3 is doing well <3
> 
> Levi's POV should be up next. Also, while I'm here, I wrote a Levi-childhood-angst one-shot last week if you're into that. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who kudos'd and commented on the last chapter, and thank you sm for reading <333

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading <3 I would love to know peoples thoughts on this


End file.
